


The Art of Precious Scars

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Ray Palmer, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mick Rory is a Softie, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 03:32:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: Lisa considers her plate, rolls the potatoes around with her fork, then looks at Ray with imploring eyes. “Eat with me?”Ray feels overwhelmed. He always comes, cooks for her, then leaves. It never occurred to him that Lisa might want his company.“Alrighty!” he complies, more than happily. One second later, Lisa has produced a plate for him and is filling it to the brim.“Hey, hey, that's enough for five!” He stops her by grabbing her wrist. Lisa freezes. Her lips stretch slightly as a rosy hue tinges her cheeks.Ray's thumb strokes the back of her hand. The little stretch in her lips blossoms into a full smile.Ray is mesmerised.He looks at her like he's seeing her for the first time, heart swelling in his chest, and realises he suddenly cannot breathe.Beautiful, amazing Lisa.Born into violence.Raised in violence.And all she asks is a little kindness.ORSomeone needs to tell Lisa Snart about her brother's sacrifice and Mick decides Ray is the best choice.





	The Art of Precious Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I have fallen in love in Lisa, okay? And since she's such a beautiful, complex character I thought she deserved some happiness, after all she's been through, and, honestly, my beautiful cinnamon roll Ray would be SO GOOD for her. I think their personalities would go very well together (just like Coldatom, of course), so here we are.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: I DO NOT TAKE PROMPTS, so do not comment just to drop prompts. They won't be considered.

_Some things are more beautiful when they've been broken._  
― Krystal Sutherland, Our Chemical Hearts

 

 

***

 

When Ray brought up the issue that no one had told Leonard's sister about what had happened at the Oculus, he hadn't expected he would be personally entrusted with this delicate task.

“Go ahead, Haircut,” Mick had blurted. “Tell Baby Girl her Lenny's dead. See you at your funeral.”

Ray serenely filed away Mick's threat as _exaggerated joking._ With hindsight, this being Leonard Snart's sister, perhaps it was a misjudgment.

Mick pointed out a pub where Lisa Snart was likely to be found and gave Ray an energetic farewell pat on his back.

“How will I recognize her?” Ray asked before leaving.

It made Mick chuckle with a fondness Ray had never seen in his eyes.

“Hot as hell,” Mick instructed. “And twice as wicked.”

And Mick wasn't kidding.

Ray hasn't walked three steps into the bar – _Saints and Sinners,_ they call it – when he spots her at the counter, alone with a beer and several gazes fixed upon her. Ray can't honestly blame any of these people.

He feels a weird pang in his stomach just by looking at her: Lisa Snart's beauty is so intense it's almost toxic. Ray feels strangely vulnerable as he walks up to her, and the feeling only reinforces when she turns to him, a flash of strikingly blue eyes that shouldn't shock Ray so much, since they look actually quite familiar. The look she gives him makes his heart stop.

Oh, Mick wasn't _remotely_ kidding.

There's so much of Leonard in Lisa Snart that it's a little painful to look at her: same subtle cat-like smirk, same cunning expression painted on a ridiculously attractive face.

And the eyes.

She has her brother's eyes – a blue so icy you can _feel_ the cold – but while Leonard's bore this lazy indifference, Lisa's are ferocious, hard and sharp like diamonds, the eyes of someone who's always looking behind their back. Eyes without peace.

He clears his voice, his dry mouth making him vaguely uncomfortable. “Lisa Snart?”

She tilts her head, studying him head to toe with a light grin. “Who wants to know?”

Voice like velvet, laced with feminine charm; lips painted a deep red, a vivid contrast against her creamy complexion.

“Ray Palmer.” He holds out a hand, which she shakes gracefully. Her hand feels too small and delicate between Ray's calloused fingers. “I'm a friend of your brother's.”

Lisa's grin widens. “I know who you are, _Raymond,”_ she says, and gestures towards the empty stool beside her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ray awkwardly takes the seat. “It's about Leonard. Lisa, I'm sorry, but-”

“He's dead. I know.”

Lisa takes a sip from her beer, puts the glass down leaving a red print below the rim. Ray scowls.

“You- you do?”

“I felt it,” she says. “It must have been... what? Three weeks ago?” She shrugs at his bewilderment. “I'm a psychic.”

“Oh?”

A big smile lights up her pretty face and quickly turns into a giggle that causes funny tingles in the nape of Ray's neck.

“No, I'm not,” she laughs. “Mick told me.”

“Mick?” Ray is even more confused now: Mick literally sent him to her. “But-”

The words die on his tongue as Lisa graces him with a genuine smile: “Thank you for bothering to come here and tell me, anyway. It was nice of you.”

“Yeah. I'm- I'm sorry if we didn't-”

“You're just like Lenny described you,” she remarks, almond eyes scrutinising him curiously. “A giant pile of sickening goodness.”

it's just like talking to Leonard: it's impossible to tell whether it's meant to be a compliment or a complaint.

“Uh...”

“Have a drink with me?” she suggest, and the offer takes Ray completely off guard. He came here expecting to comfort a mourning sister, but Lisa Snart is far from the fragile girl he had pictured. “For Lenny.”

“Oh.” He can't say no. He has a feeling Lisa needs to talk, or maybe just wants someone to drink with. “Okay.”

“Relax,” she reassures him, laying a hand over his wrist. “I'm not going to eat you. _Yet.”_

 

*

 

By the time Ray has finished his beer, Lisa is already halfway through her third.

Ray observes her, registers the signs in her body language that betray her nonchalant facade: her elbows tight against her body, her look barely leaving her glass, the tight set of her shoulders... Ray can tell she is not as serene as she's trying to appear.

“Were you and Len close?” she asks out of the blue, bronze curls rolling off her shoulder as she turns to him.

Ray's first instinct is to say yes – yes, _of course_ they were close. But then he realises Leonard would probably have had a different opinion on the matter.

“He was hard to approach. But I considered him a friend, even though it was probably not mutual.”

Lisa nods as if she knows exactly what he means. “Lenny and I had a terrible childhood. Our relationship skills are a bit fucked up.” She gives him an apologetic half a smile. “Co-dependency, trust issues, anti-social behavior... name one, we have it. _Had_ it. Whatever.”

She picks up her glass and drains the remnants of her third beer, than orders another one. Ray has to bite his tongue to hold back a reprimand. She shouldn't be drinking so much, but if she needs to, then he'll make sure she does it safely.

“Sounds like a lonely life.”

A thick shadow darkens Lisa's eyes. “As long as I had Lenny, I had everything.”

The way her voice cracks on _everything_ causes a surge of sympathy in Ray's chest. He can tell how much this woman loved her brother, how much she misses him.

“And now?”

“Now... I'm trying to get by,” Lisa admits. She curls her arms around herself, putting on a thin, brittle smile. “Life is scary when you're alone in the world.”

_Alone._

Ray knows how cruel this word is. He's felt it for years, deep inside his bones, the cold bite of loneliness and its terrifying waken now that he's found a family and a home with the Legends, he can clearly recall how empty his life used to feel.

“It doesn't have to be like that.”

Lisa arches her brows in surprise. “You wanna be my friend, Raymond?” she teases with a sly smirk.

“You seem to need one,” he notes, and while this is true, it still doesn't justify the boundaries he just crossed. He doesn't even know this girl, and she doesn't know him.

But Lisa doesn't seem to mind his excess of familiarity. She's gazing at him softly, sharp cheekbones brightened by a rosy flush. The glossy patina in her eyes is probably a consequence of the alcohol.

“You're cute,” she says, and it doesn't mean anything, but Ray's heart still flutters, for some reason.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“It was a compliment. I like cute.”

Her hand slides on top of Ray's, squeezes firmly. She shifts closer to him, and his lungs fill with a bittersweet scent that goes straight to his head. Or maybe it's just the way she looks at him.

“I should probably take you home,” he breathes, backing away from her as discreetly as possible.

“Mmh, I'd love that,” she purrs, chasing him with her whole body.

Ray jumps off his stool, pulse skyrocketing. This woman has a dangerous effect on him.

“Just take you there and make sure you're okay,” he clarifies, and Lisa pouts – oh, so gracefully.

“Am I not pretty enough?”

Ray laughs nervously.

All the _pretty_ in the world wouldn't be enough to even begin to describe Lisa's beauty. Objectively, she's probably the most attractive woman he's ever laid his eyes upon, with those perfect features and impeccable symmetry, and a body that looks like it was built to tempt, but he would never accept a woman's advances when she's drunk and grieving.

“You're gorgeous, but-”

“But that's not going to work with you,” she completes, slowly walking up to him. “Is it?”

Ray swallows. He has to muster every single drop of willpower in himself to nod and ignore the fact that Lisa is deliberately staring at his mouth.

When he finally convinces her to let him escort her home, Lisa seems to drop any intention to make Ray as uncomfortable as possible and precedes him outside.

He finds a taxi, rides with her and walks her up to her apartment on the fifth floor of a surprisingly nice building. He helps her get the key into the hole and bids her goodnight, then waits for her to lock the door behind herself, but Lisa turns around before the door closes:

“Ray?” she mumbles, eyes low, biting her bottom lip between slightly crooked teeth.

“Yes?”

Lisa cracks a broken smile. “Come back, sometime? It'd be nice to see you again.”

 

*

Lisa's request – her prayer – keeps Ray awake at night.

He tosses and turns, restless, unable to erase the needy expression he saw on Lisa's face.

_'Come back, sometime?'_

He can't.

It would be inappropriate.

He shouldn't even think about it.

And yet.

 

*

 

Finding out Lisa has a habit of getting drunk at the pub makes Ray so angry and so sad he doesn't really know how to handle either feeling. He's sure Leonard would want him to look after Lisa, so he buries both anger and sadness and approaches Lisa with a confidence he doesn't really have and leans over the counter with a displeased eye fixed on the empty glasses in front of her.

Lisa's shoulders tense when she notices him; she dares a guilty sideways glance, but looks away when he tries to meet her eyes.

“Don't do this to yourself,” he whispers, full of concern. There is no way this isn't ending very badly, if she doesn't stop soon. “What would Leonard say?”

Lisa's jaw stiffens, her lips tremble. “Well, he's not here to say anything, is he?”

“Lisa-”

“I'm fine,” she snaps, even if everything about her countenance says the very opposite.

Ray sighs, leans forward to try to get a glimpse of her face through the curtain of curls she's hiding behind. “You know that is not true.”

A corner of Lisa's mouth curls shyly. “I'm a big girl. I can look after myself.”

“Also not true.”

Lisa's hands tighten around her glass. “What do you want with me?” she asks. There's an imperceptible quiver in her harsh tone.

Ray's hand carefully reaches up, lifts the glass from Lisa's hands and sets it aside. Lisa doesn't even try to protest. Her hands are trembling.

Ray considers putting an arm around her shoulder to comfort her, or even just a hand, but they don't have that kind of intimacy. They don't have any intimacy _at all._

“Just let me get you home safe,” he begs, holding out a hand to her. Lisa eyes it suspiciously, like she might be poisoned by his touch, but eventually, though reluctantly, she takes it.

When they get out of the taxi, looking down at her lap, she says: “Sounds like we're falling into a routine.”

“Maybe we could both do something more pleasant if you weren't so self-destructive.”

It's not a reproach. Not entirely. Ray is just trying to get her to smile, or at least distract her from the dark mist clouding her thoughts.

Lisa doesn't smile; her frown, however, has visibly softened. “Why are you doing this?”

Just like Leonard: it seems that the Snarts find it hard to believe someone may genuinely care for them.

“I owe your brother,” he confesses, even though that's just a half of the truth. “It was supposed to be me, not him.”

He waits for Lisa to attack him – physically, verbally, maybe both – but there's no hatred on her face when she finally turns to him.

“Oh, I see. You feel responsible for me. _Poor little thing, all alone without the brother who died in my place...”_

It's not like that. Ray swears he's not here because of guilt, but she doesn't believe him.

He insists, and she insists, and it's a very heated argument by the time they reach her door. Lisa doesn't want his pity and Ray doesn't know how to convince her it's only her he's here for.

Lisa is about to snap something back at him when she suddenly falls silent and, swaying a little, collapses into his arms.

He holds her, surprised by how unsuspectingly heavy she is. He feels solid muscles under his palms, strong limbs hanging loosely between his arms. Lisa Snart is no helpless damsel: she is built like a warrior, but something inside her is broken, and bleeding, and Ray can't leave her alone right now.

He shoulders the door open and enters the apartment with Lisa cuddled against him. While he looks for her bedroom, he's vaguely aware of one of her hands resting warm and light over his chest.

The house is small but fancy and tidy. Ray takes off Lisa's boots before tucking her under in her bed. He fetches a glass of water from the kitchen and leaves it on her bedside table.

Lisa is sleeping soundly, the dark make up wet and smudged under her eyes.

She still looks hauntingly beautiful.

Ray has to remind himself it's rude to stare at people while they sleep, and it takes him quite an effort to turn his back to Lisa and close the door behind himself.

His legs feel strangely heavy as he walks away.

The house is scattered with pictures of Lisa and Leonard together through their lives - a child and a baby, a boy and a little girl, a handsome man and a gorgeous woman – and in each of them they cling to each other, smiling but with a darkness in their eyes that reminds Ray of his own look in several pictures of his childhood.

It's terrible to see how much Lisa's life has always revolved around her brother. He cannot even imagine how shallow the world must feel to her without him.

Back in the kitchen there are empty takeout boxes piled on the counter and a handful of dying plants of the windowsill.

Ray checks the cabinets, then the fridge: there's nothing remotely edible in this house.

He takes the expired food and the takeout boxes and shoves them into a bag, then waters the plants, plucking out the dead leaves. When he's done, the kitchen has gained a vague semblance of decency.

Before leaving, he gathers some of the edible stuff and whips up pancakes and a quite pathetic-looking fruit salad, then covers everything with a towel and leaves a message on it:

_Please, eat it._

_Ray_

 

*

 

Two days later, he finds Lisa at the _Saints and Sinners_ again.

Same spot, same face.

Ray is already prepared for another psychologically exhausting night when he notices the drink in front of Lisa is actually a lemon spritzer.

Lisa winks at him and grins smugly when he beams.

“Wanna join me, Handsome?”

Ray rolls his eyes and slumps into the stool next to her, pushing something towards her as he does so.

Lisa looks at the small object with mild curiosity. “What is this?”

“A pager,” replies Ray. “Sort of. I borrowed some technology from Gideon – it's our timeship – to boost its signal to work through space and time.”

Lisa fixes the super-pager for a long while with an unreadable expression. Ray would _pay_ to know what she's thinking.

Is this too much? Is he being intrusive?

Oh god, he _is._

Why would she even _want_ to page him?

But then Lisa glances up at him, ice blue piercing him, punching the air out of his lungs.

_Beautiful._

_Beautiful._

_Beautiful._

Lisa chuckles. “Is that nerd for _'Call me'?”_

Ray conceals his blushing behind a laugh. He shows Lisa how to use the device, informs her she can charge it by simply putting it into the sunlight for a few minutes. She listens carefully, nods when he looks at her to make sure it's all clear.

She twists the pager in her hands, studying it like there's more to it than its appearance shows, then smiles at Ray in a way that seems to light up the whole bar.

“Whenever you need anything,” he says, a little chokedly. “I'll be right here.”

 

*

 

When he shows up at her door with five bags of fresh groceries in his hands, Lisa doesn't even blink.

She opens the door in shorts and a shabby t-shirt that reads _'Girls just wanna have fun'._

For a split second, Ray forgets what he came for.

He takes in Lisa's chiseled figure and his gaze lingers as it rises from her bare feet: toned legs, round hips, trim waist, and a clean face that, without a hint of make up, shows just how young she really is.

And beautiful.

Painfully so.

Who would have thought she would look even more gorgeous, stripped of her predatory layers?

“Raymond,” she greets. “What's that?” she inquires as she steps aside to let him in.

Ray carries the bags to the kitchen and places them on the counter.

“Food. _Proper_ food. You need to eat something decent.”

Lisa pads next to him and rises on her tiptoes to take a peek at the groceries. She nudges Ray with her hip when she quips: “Maybe I should eat you.”

Ray laughs, because she's obviously kidding.

_Right?_

 

*

 

“I haven't known you for a month and I've already put on five pounds.”

It's not really a complaint. Ray knows for sure, because Lisa loves his cooking and, despite her incessant protests, she keeps wolfing down whatever he puts in front of her and often demands a second serving, which pleases Ray more than he cares to admit.

“And each of them looks pretty good on you,” he argues, shoveling baked potatoes into her plate.

Lisa casts him a playful glare. “Now, now, don't toy with a poor girl's heart.”

“It's true,” says Ray absently. “You'd look even better with another few pounds, to be honest.”

Lisa crosses her arms over the table, popping a potato chunk into her mouth.

“You like your girls curvy, Raymond?”

Ray throws a towel over his shoulder. “I like my people healthy.”

“Your _people,_ huh? We have a lot in common, it seems.”

“So, what would you like with your potatoes tonight?”

“Nothing in particular. Except...” Lisa considers her plate, rolls the potatoes around with her fork, then looks at Ray with imploring eyes. “Eat with me?”

Ray feels overwhelmed. He always comes, cooks for her, then leaves. It never occurred to him that Lisa might want his company.

“Alrighty!” he complies, more than happily. One second later, Lisa has produced a plate for him and is filling it to the brim.

“Hey, hey, that's enough for five!” He stops her by grabbing her wrist. Lisa freezes. Her lips stretch slightly as a rosy hue tinges her cheeks.

Ray's thumb strokes the back of her hand. The little stretch in her lips blossoms into a full smile.

Ray is mesmerised.

He looks at her like he's seeing her for the first time, heart swelling in his chest, and realises he suddenly cannot breathe.

Beautiful, amazing Lisa.

Born into violence.

Raised in violence.

And all she asks is a little kindness.

 

*

 

They're sprawled on Lisa's couch crunching popcorn as they watch Star Wars when Lisa, head propped on Ray's shoulder, asks: “Why do you keep coming back?”

The question has Ray fumbling for an answer.

It started because he had to tell her about Leonard. He did.

Then he wanted to help her stop drowning her sorrow into alcohol. He did.

Then it became about teaching her how to take care of herself by eating well and enough, and that is done, too.

What is it, now? What's his excuse? What keeps bringing him back here, as often as he can, knocking on her door like he's the one who needs her, and not the other way around?

The warmth of Lisa's presence beside him makes it hard to think. He feels her closeness with his whole body, on his skin and in his soul, and it's a very peculiar feeling, something he isn't sure he has a name for.

“You never shut me out,” he says, and it's cheating, he knows that, but what else can he say?

_'I just do. I just want to come back to you.'_

Lisa shifts to make herself more comfortable, bends her legs under herself. The press of her chest into Ray's arm burns like embers.

“Why would I?” she drawls mischievously. “A tall, handsome man keeps showing up at my door bearing gifts... I would be a fool to send him away.”

It's been months, now. Months since they met and this thing between them – whatever it is – began, and still she does this, acts playful and charming when things are about to get serious. And Ray is a bit hurt by this.

“Are you ever going to drop this charade?”

Lisa has the nerve to widen her eyes at him with such innocence he almost believes her.

Almost.

“The flirtatious seductress,” he sighs. The thing is, when she does this he feels exactly like she's shutting him out. “I'm here for you, but I can't be of any help if you keep hiding.”

Lisa pulls herself up, wrapped in a fluffy lilac pyjamas that makes her look like a little girl.

“This _is_ me, Ray,” she objects, and there's some sort of apology in her tone.

“Maybe,” he concedes bitterly, casting a meaningful look at her whole person. “But there's more to you than a beautiful body and a beautiful face.”

Lisa shrugs weakly, attempting a small, heart-broken smile. “What lies beneath might not be as beautiful as the surface.”

“Why do you say that?”

She shakes her head helplessly. “A good guy like you wouldn't be able to understand the ugly inside someone like me.”

Ray wants to shake her. He wants to grab her shoulders and squeeze her tight enough to hurt her. He wants to be blunt and hard, but that's not what she needs.

“I don't see any ugly in you,” he mutters softly. “I only see broken, and lonely.”

“Let me guess: you wanna save me,” she retorts coldly. “Make me whole again.”

“Sometimes it's not about being whole. Sometimes it's just about keeping the pieces together. And you're falling apart, Lisa.”

It's as painful for Ray to say as it is painful for her to hear. He can read the sorrow on her face, the look of betrayal she shoots him wounds him deeper than he would have thought possible.

There's a shimmer in her eyes, a slight tremble in his chin. Her mouth twists in an effort to stifle the tears as she hisses: “And why would you care about that?”

_Because-_

His subconscious kills his instinctual thought before it can reach his mouth. He tries to grasp it, but it's gone too soon, vanished behind another, more sensible response.

“Because I care about you.”

“ _Please,”_ Lisa scoffs, rolling her eyes. Two big tears roll down her face. Then more follow, and slowly a silent cry turns into sobs. She faces away, trying to hide herself, but Ray won't let her run, this time.

She needs to face her demons, before the grief drives her insane.

Ray takes her hand, pulls her to him, lets her bury her face into his shirt. “It's okay,” he whispers. His arms fold around her, keep her grounded. “Go on, let it all go.”

“I hate this,” she sniffles angrily against him. “I hate feeling so weak.”

Ray strokes her hair reassuringly. “It's okay. You can be weak for a little while. I'm right here, nothing's gonna happen. I promise.”

He knows her story, and Leonard's. He knows what they went through together and knows why weakness scares Lisa so much. He promises to himself he's going to help her fix this, one day.

“Len is gone,” she says, and her voice breaks. “Sometimes his absence is so unbearable I can't- I can't even-” Her fingers fist Ray's shirt. “I feel it in my whole being, deep inside my bones... Lenny left me, and I'm alone in a world that doesn't give a fuck about me.”

As Lisa sobs – a throaty, angry sob – and Ray slowly realises what he initially meant to say when she asked why he keeps coming back to her.

It's written all over him, in the way his arms hold her and his hands rock her, in how his lips move against her hair, murmuring gently into her ear: “I don't know about the world. But I'm here for you.”

And it's still not what he really means, not remotely. The truth is right there, stuck between his teeth, urging to get out, to be freed, but he can't do it now. There will be another moment, perhaps. This moment, right here, is not that. This moment is not about him and what he feels; it's about Lisa and her grief, and all Ray wants is to just hold her through this.

She looks up at him, eyes red and huge, and the way she looks at Ray makes him want to rip the sun and the moon off the sky and lay them at her feet.

“Why are you so good to me?”

Ray runs a hand down her cheek, scrutinising her closely. His heart quivers a little. He feels like the ground beneath his feet is crumbling away. “Don't you know?”

It's a pathetic, shaky breath coming out of his mouth, so feeble he wonders if uttered any sound at all. Ray _feels_ pathetic. What is he even doing?

But Lisa isn't looking at him like he's pathetic. There's fondness in her eyes. Her fingers slowly relax and release his shirt until her hand lies flat over his sternum, right there where his heart is throbbing with things he'd rather not think about.

“It's just hard to believe,” Lisa says wistfully, and, yes, that sounds exactly like something her brother would have said.

“What else can I do to prove it to you?”

Lisa opens her mouth, but closes it immediately.

She's still beautiful.

Puffy eyes, red face, pale lips, and she still looks breath-takingly beautiful.

Lisa slides her arms around Ray's waist and cuddles up to him, nuzzling her head beneath his chin. Then, with one last sniffle, she sighs: “Nothing either of us would be able to handle right now.”

 

*

 

When Ray comes back the day after, he has a box in his hands wrapped in shiny blue and white paper. Lisa opens it greedily, buzzing with childish excitement. When she picks up the object inside, however, she seems a bit puzzled.

“What is it?” she asks, half laughing, turning the peculiar bowl into her hands. It's a bowl, deep blue china and golden veins running all across it in a swirling, irregular pattern.

“Japanese art.”

Lisa raises a brow at him. “It's a broken bowl.”

“It's called _kintsugi,”_ explains Ray. “They take broken things and put them back together with gold.” He runs a finger along one of the golden linings, eyeing the scar on Lisa's collarbone as he does so. He doesn't know how many more scars her clothes are hiding, but Leonard told him what their father used to do to her and to Leonard. He knows what she survived. “It's a metaphor,” he continues hastily, and perhaps unnecessarily. “To symbolize the importance of something that was damaged, and healed to become ever more valuable.”

Lisa observes the bowl. There's a small, touched smile on her lips when she finally looks at Ray.

“You sure know how to make a woman feel special.”

“I hope the woman in question doesn't need my opinion to know her worth.”

“I'm not a piece of Japanese art, Ray,” Lisa argues. “Broken humans aren't pretty.”

“Says who?” he insists. “Sometimes we simply need to accept we will never be truly whole again and just...” He shrugs. “Come to terms with our stitches.”

Lisa puts the bowl on the table, then looks up at Ray through her lashes. “You know what the funny thing is in all of this?” she says. “The good guys in this city call me Golden Glider.”

Ray gapes and Lisa smirks, but then the smirk fades into a serious expression. She cups a hand over Ray's cheek and a faint smile tugs at her lips: “Are you going to be the gold in my cracks?”

“No,” says Ray, almost indignantly. He softens, leaning into her touch. “Can't you see? You're the one who was strong and brave enough to survive all that crap. Your past, your scars... that's what forged you. You should be proud of that – of yourself.” His hand rises and covers hers. He turns slightly, his lips brushing the inside of her wrist as he whispers: “You're your own gold, Lisa.”

A corner of her mouth curls bitterly. “It almost sounds like you mean it.”

“I do.”

“Will you stay tonight?” she begs, and Ray tries really hard to tell himself it's a bad idea, but it doesn't work, and he doesn't even want it to work.

“I promise I have honorable intentions,” she assures, and something in the way she says it convinces Ray it's not a lie.

“Okay. I'll stay.”

Lisa takes him to her room. It's raining outside and the lights from the street below cast an orange glow all over the walls.

Ray follows her into the bed, under the fresh sheets. Lisa never leaves his eyes as she pulls up the covers and cuddles up at his side without saying a word. Both fully clothed, they just lie there and listen to the rain, to each other's breathing, until Lisa's breath evens out, slow and deep, and Ray knows she's fallen asleep.

He brushes a couple of locks away to drop a feather kiss on her forehead. Lisa sighs in her sleep, holds him a little tighter.

“I love you, Raymond.”

The rain is deafening.

 

*

 

When the morning comes, Ray slips out of bed and tiptoes out of the room.

He's considering to leave straight away, but then he thinks about Lisa waking up all alone and a jab of guilt drives him to the kitchen, where he starts making her pancakes.

At the very least, she's going to have something waiting for her when she's up.

He's already put on his jacket when he hears:

“We should talk about it.”

He jumps, turns around to find Lisa leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a knowing grin.

He can't help feeling moved by this sight: she really is Leonard's sister.

“About what?” he babbles, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, and failing miserably.

Lisa's eyes narrow. “The reason why you were sneaking out on me.”

“Oh.” He was really hoping she didn't mean _that._ “You- you remember.”

“I'm sorry I embarrassed you.”

“No, it's okay. I know you didn't mean it.”

“Oh, really?” Lisa glowers at him. It's actually quite scary. “Thank you for enlightening me about my own feelings. I was so sure I meant every word.”

“You- you did?”

“You think I'd just say that to anyone?”

“No, but-”

“I never said it before,” Lisa admits, and her voice is suddenly thin. “Apart from Lenny.”

The revelation catches Ray off guard. “Not even Mick?”

Lisa shakes her head. “Not even him.”

“Oh.” Ray is at a loss for words. There's a lot of things he wants to say but none of them seems to make sense when he attempts to put them together into a sentence. “I- I uh...”

“You don't have to say it back,” Lisa reassures as she walks up to him.

“What if I want to?”

“Then you'd better be damn sure of that, because if you break my heart I'll break every bone in your body, in alphabetical order.”

“Wow. That's- that's a very specific skillset.”

Lisa shrugs modestly. “In third grade there was this kid who kept bullying me because I was always very quiet and solitary,” she says. “I tried to scare him away with this threat and he laughed at me. He didn't believe me. So I learned the names of each of the two hundred and six human bones just to prove I wasn't kidding.”

“But you _were_ kidding, right?”

“No, I wasn't,” she snaps with an outraged frown. She looks so much like Leonard right now. “I started by causing an accident that broke his _calcanei_ while we were getting into the school pool. I aimed for the left, first, but sadly he ended up breaking the right.”

Ray really shouldn't be smiling at this, but he just can't help it: he can picture her, a little girl with lethal blue eyes, getting her revenge against a jerk twice her size but with not even half of her brains.

Beautiful, brave, dangerous Lisa.

“I have a feeling you're not lying.”

“Told you: I don't waste time with lies, when they're not strictly necessary.”

“You are incredible.”

And she is. Lisa Snart is incredible in so many ways Ray could never have walked out of this house without leaving his heart behind for her. The very moment he allowed himself to get to know her, he was screwed.

Lisa giggles. “Are you complimenting me for hurting a kid in elementary school?”

“I've had my own share of trouble with bullies,” he confesses. “I can't really justify what you did, but... that was pretty badass.”

It makes her smile proudly, and Ray decides he wants to see this smile printed permanently on this pretty face: keeping Lisa smiling is his new purpose in life.

“Do I get a kiss, now?” she asks huskily, running her hands up his arms as she presses herself against him.

Ray bends his head, nudges her with the tip of his nose. “I was kinda hoping you'd say that,” he mutters. His lips are about to meet Lisa's when he hears himself whisper: “I love you.”

Lisa groans. “Left calcaneus,” she hisses threateningly. “Right calcaneus, capitate bone, cervical vertebrae, clavicle...”

“Stop it,” Ray scoffs amusedly. “I'm not taking it back.”

“Coccygeal vertebrae, cuboid bone, distal phalanges...”

“Oh my god.”

“Ethmoid bone,” she laughs as Ray's lips approach again. “False rib.” Ray's lips brush over hers, muffling her voice. “Femur...”

And then she cannot speak anymore, because Ray has her wrapped into his arms, and he's kissing her, _kissing her,_ and Lisa is finally at home.

She's at home.

_She's at home._

She's finally home again.

 

*

 

“Is that a hickey on your neck?”

Ray gapes at Mick. How did he notice so quickly? He just walked into the kitchen _one second ago._ How does he _know,_ already?

His hand automatically darts to the side of his neck. “Oh, uhm...” He struggles to come up with a plausible explanation, but something else pops up in his mind: “Hey, Mick? Why did you send me to tell Lisa about Leonard if you'd already told her yourself?”

Mick lowers his beer to blink at him. “Have I?”

Ray is absolutely certain Mick is just playing dump but he can't bother himself to deal with this right now. He's still buzzing with excitement after spending the better part of the last few hours cuddling and kissing with Lisa in between a bite of pancakes and a sip of terrible coffee – but he's not going to tell Lisa about that.

“Never mind.”

“Hey, Haircut!” Mick calls after him as he makes to leave. “Take care of Baby Girl, alright?”

Ray's eyes widen in awareness. Not only Mick _knows:_ this was his plan all along.

_Mick, you little shit._

“I have all intention to.”

“You better,” Mick says with a warning frown. “If you hurt her, she'll break every bone in your body in alphabetical order.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I always go for the pairings nobody ever considers. It's like a curse, I swear, but I can't help it.  
> I expect zero feedback for this story, it's such a rare pair I'm pretty sure this story will basically go unnoticed, but whatever. I'm going to love you forever if you drop even a half-word comment for this. Thanks in advance to everyone who will even bother to read this.


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